


Haze

by dornfelder



Series: Assorted Trash Fic [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dark fic, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 02:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8083426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dornfelder/pseuds/dornfelder
Summary: The world behind a veil.





	

The world behind a veil: fire in your veins, your blood running hot. The heat will burn you to ashes. You scream and your fist hits a wall. It feels _so_ good and you stare at the blood dripping from your fingers. There's no pain, only satisfaction, and with a growl, you pull the whiteboard from the wall and turn around to smash the terminal. Sparks fly and you stumble back, reaching for the chair, the closest thing within reach.

Someone grabs your wrist from behind and a strong arm winds around your waist to hold you tight. You refuse, you kick and scream. As he doesn't let you go, screams turn into curses, turn into threats. You are burning and the world has to burn with you. 

"No," a voice says, "No, Sam, stop, just stop." The voice is meaningless and all you do is twist in his arms and try to get away. He turns you around to look you in the eyes, both hands on your shoulder. "Sam. What's going on? Talk to me. Please, talk to me …" 

You smile at him and as he loosens his hold just a fraction, you break free and your fist smashes into his face. He recoils, blood dripping from his split lip. You smile in delight. Finally, your rage has a target, and it's him. He has to die. Now. 

The world behind a red veil: you are no match for his strength, and then he sits on top of you and holds you down. Someone else it talking. A woman's voice in your ear. "Steve? Steve, you have to help him. You have to help him get it out of his system. You need to give him something to fight, or he'll go into cardiac arrest." 

"No. Not an option," he says. Still he's holding you down, keeping you from getting what you need. "You don't understand, he's hurting himself, he's –"

"Stark's still stuck in L.A.," the woman's voice says. You snarl. You want to tear her apart. You hate her voice. "You're on your own. The only thing – Steve, spar with him. Fight him. We'll be there as soon as we can … Steve, do you copy?"

He stares down at you, his lips painted scarlet, his face pale. You want to taste the blood, want to drink it, want to draw more from him. You want … destruction, wanton mutilation, savagery – the only thing that will purge the fire from your veins.

He stares down at you and you bare your teeth in a cruel smile. 

"Okay," he says. "Okay, Nat. Just … hurry. I'll do what I can." You laugh at him, his sincerity and determination. Oh, you're going to beat it out of him, you're going to slice him open, bury your fist in his ribcage and squeeze his heart until it stops. The woman's voice is gone. He stares down at you and you growl at him. "Sam," he says. "It's okay. If you need to fight me – if you need to hurt me – you can. I'm here for you. I'm – I'm going to let go of you now."

The world behind a veil: glorious, glittering rage; rage that clouds your vision and makes your hands claw at his beautiful face. 

And then your hunger changes and you no longer feel the need to destroy, but the need to own, to control, to make him submit; force him under you, _take_ him. 

"Sam – what are you –" 

His words are lost in the void as you bend down to bite him, claiming his mouth, teeth diging into his bottom lip. He throws you off him and stares at you with wide, panicked eyes. "Sam, what –"

The woman's voice is too close, too far. Bits and pieces as his face changes, as he tries to escape from you while you crawl after him. He scrambles to his feet, breathing heavily. You smile at him. 

" … need to hold out. Steve, he's going to kill someone, or die trying. There's magic in that stone, they've done something to his brain – he's not going to stop. He's not going to stop, he can't, it would kill him, unless he kills someone first –"

You get up from the floor too. He's yours. He just doesn't know it yet.

"I understand," he says, and then, "You better get here soon."

Silence. You stare at him ungrily, and he stares back at you. When you throw yourself at him, you expect him to fight, but instead he lets you pull him to the ground, lets you put his hands around his throat and squeeze until he coughs, until he takes your wrist and pries your fingers loose. You start tearing at his clothes. 

He closes his eyes and makes his body go lax under yours. "Okay," he says. "Okay. Whatever you need. I'm here, Sam. It's okay." 

The world behind a veil: his body under yours, breathing shallowly as you rip the tactical gear away, as you smash his head onto the floor, one hand buried in his hair to pull it head back and bare his throat for your teeth. He doesn't resist as you leave a bloody trail on his neck, vicious bites that draw blood, as you spread crimson on his milky, flawless skin. You turn him over and he goes easily, goes on all fours, holds still as you force your cock inside him. It's better than killing him, to thrust into his tight heat, the noises he makes as you push into him over and over again: grunts and chocked-off, pained little whimpers. Nothing has ever felt that good, nothing else will ever feel that good, all that heat your pour into him, the fire in your blood blazing higher while you drive yourself inside his unresisting body

Orgasm hits you like a punch to the gut and you scream again as you spill inside of him. Abruptly, the world turns black and the veil closes around you to swallow you whole.

**********

Sam lifts his head. He is lying on the floor, his head pillowed on a tactic vest, and he's covered by his own gear. Underneath, he's naked. Steve sits next to him, quiet and withdrawn with his head resting on his knees. He's fully dressed. 

Sam tries to say something, anything. It take two attempts - his mouth is dry as dust and the word comes out as a rasp. "Steve."

Steve lifts his head. His skin stark white against the blue of his eyes and there are traces of blood on his cheek - bite marks and scratches, already healing, but still visible. As he sees Sam, his lips twist into a smile that is both forced and sad. "Hey."

"Don't smile at me," Sam says. "Just don't."

"Sam –"

"No."

"Sam, it's okay –"

Sam turns his head away and squeezes his eyes shot. "No. It's not. Don't you dare … don't you dare tell me that anything of this is okay. _Nothing_ is going to make this okay."

"I know," Steve says quietly. 

The world won't go away, no matter how much Sam would like to hide from it, so he opens his eyes again. "Steve, God, I'm so fucking –"

"No," Steve says. "You have nothing to be sorry for." And then, unbelievably, he reaches for Sam's hand – moving carefully, announcing his intent - and takes it in both of his. "I won't tell you that it's okay. I won't promise you anything you don't want to hear. But –"

Sams wants to pull his hand back, twitches with the urge to do it, but Steve's eyes are blue and kind look at him with a sincerity that makes Sam want to cry. "What," he says; it comes out gruff and strained, nothing like Steve's quiet, soft voice.

"Sam, you're the kindest and most decent person I know," Steve says. "And I would do it again if I had to, if it meant I wasn't going to lose you. That's what you need to know."

Sam closes his eyes. His hand trembles in Steve's grip, but he doesn't pull away, and after a second, he finds the strength and courage to close his fingers around Steve's and hold on.


End file.
